


Xenos

by Violetcarson



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Hellenistic Religion & Lore
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-25 00:43:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3790273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetcarson/pseuds/Violetcarson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xenos - Foreigner, Stranger. </p><p>The knife in her hand sparkles with red droplets as she whistles for the hounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Xenos

**Xenos**

* * *

 

Medea is eight, and her mother takes her hunting. Hecate’s skirts swirl in flashes of black and red between trees. Her mother whispers to trees and herself, harsh mutters that make no sense as Medea trails behind. They pause at the edge of a meadow, flowers in clumps of yellow. The hounds crouch, muscles tense, ears perked, waiting, watching a doe that lips at tall grasses. The string of Hecate’s bow snaps against the hard leather on her wrist as the arrow flies. The dying doe is fast, but the hounds are faster. 

Medea means to follow her mother’s triumph, but she pauses, standing over a remnant. A spotted fawn hunches where its mother left it. “Poor thing,” she says aloud, and the fawn spasms at the sound of her voice. Brown eyes lock on brown eyes.

When Hecate finds her, the hand she places on Medea’s shoulder is stained with red. They examine the fawn together. “It’ll die without its mother. We shouldn’t leave it alone.” Hecate’s silk voice ripples. The knife in her hand sparkles with red droplets as she whistles for the hounds.

* * *

 

 Medea is seventeen, and Jason takes her away. The ship is full of tall men with scars littering their muscles who refuse to meet her eyes. She smiles at their downcast gazes and runs her hand along Jason’s arm. The skin twitches, dancing at her touch. He is always so thankful, praising her skill and her beauty. He is so grateful for her help in winning his fleece and his throne. 

Before she met Jason, she had never killed, not even for her mother. She had known in theory how to take a life, but she was never as eager as her sister to press the mixtures into the mouths of strangers and watch their skin bubble away. She knows now how easy it is, the killing. Her mother taught her well.

* * *

Medea is twenty-two, and she gives birth to twin boys. She brushes her hands over their downy hair. They are perfect, as they must be. They are Jason’s heirs, and they will be strong, favored. She leaves the room where they sleep, sweeping past servants who hide their mutters behind raised hands and averted eyes. Medea does not care, because she is Jason’s wife, and they would all tremble before her rage if it was roused in this place. They can mutter if they like that her actions and choices aren’t Achaean, aren’t done, but they cannot touch her. 

That night she burns venison out in the quiet wood surrounding their home, a tribute to her glorious mother. The meat is hot and tender, and the grease sears her tongue. 

* * *

 

Medea is thirty, and Jason’s skin no longer trembles at her touch. He no longer permits her touch at all. He says that she is too old, too worn, no longer beautiful enough. He swore to her once, oaths promising forever in return for her aid. But he has forgotten.

He has forgotten. 

The screams of his young bride echo, though she cannot hear them. She can see the skin blister red and burn black, though she is far away. The girl’s father, the king who mocked her, will burn too, and she smiles.

She knows that time is short, so she calls her boys to her, in through the wide doorway. They smile when they see her, and she sweeps them into her arms. Her beautiful, perfect boys.

After her retribution against their father, they will find no sanctuary, no place of safety. Jason cares nothing for them. Their father will reject them, and their mother will be dead to this land. No one will come back to claim them from their hiding place in the grass. 

“My poor things,” she says, hands twining in their hair. “I mustn’t leave you alone.”

**Author's Note:**

> I always appreciate feedback.
> 
> [Come hang out with me on tumblr.](clearancecreedwatersurvival.tumblr.com)


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